


The Night

by starrysummernights



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Greg Lestrade, First Love, First Time, Greg is Sweet, Greg is just a mess, Kid John, Kid Sherlock Holmes, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Teen Angst, Teen Mycroft Holmes/Teen Greg Lestrade, Teen Romance, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, Virgin Mycroft Holmes, Virginity, gratuitous use of rugby jerseys, i'm not even ashamed, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: The Holmes house is dark when Greg Lestrade pulls up and cuts the engine on his motorbike, and the ringing silence after the engine dies is piercing before the usual night noises of crickets and frogs and katydids rush to fill the void. Taking off his helmet and ruffling out his hair so it’s no longer a crushed mess, Greg stares up at the darkened windows of the elaborate house and the rough stonework which looks centuries old, covered in trailing vines.Trust Mycroft Holmes to live in a legitimate manor, Greg thinks, leaving his bike propped in the shadows and carefully concealed by a line of shrubs. Not that he’s really afraid anyone will see it. There are no nearby houses- neighborhood’s too posh for that, not like the apartment complex where Greg lives, everyone on top of everyone else and able to hear everything through the walls- and the Holmes parents are gone, away on a trip to America.Which is the whole reason Greg is here in the first place.Mycroft invited him to spend the night.





	The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Basically teen!Mystrade with loss of virginity and all the sweetness.

The Holmes house is dark when Greg Lestrade pulls up and cuts the engine on his motorbike, and the ringing silence after the engine dies is piercing before the usual night noises of crickets and frogs and katydids rush to fill the void. Taking off his helmet and ruffling out his hair so it’s no longer a crushed mess, Greg stares up at the darkened windows of the elaborate house and the rough stonework which looks centuries old, covered in trailing vines.

Trust Mycroft Holmes to live in a legitimate _manor_ , Greg thinks, leaving his bike propped in the shadows and carefully concealed by a line of shrubs. Not that he’s really afraid anyone will see it. There are no nearby houses- neighborhood’s too posh for that, not like the apartment complex where Greg lives, everyone on top of everyone else and able to hear everything through the walls- and the Holmes parents are gone, away on a trip to America.

Which is the whole reason Greg is here in the first place.

Mycroft invited him to spend the night.

Greg’s next breath is embarrassingly unsteady and his cheeks tinge pink in the darkness while he fumbles with his bag, releasing the catch and tugging it off the bike. It’s his school bag, the one he carries every day, and he experiences a twinge of worry that using it as an overnight bag is considered…crass. Or whatever the hell word someone as posh as Mycroft would use to describe it. Greg assumes Mycroft has a different set of bags for every occasion, and a very special one reserved for when he spends the night at his boyfriend’s house for the first time.

Greg does not.

He’s nowhere near that posh.

All he’d done was empty his backpack out earlier that afternoon, as soon as he’d got Mycroft’s text, dumping all the books and papers and pencils out and then stuffing in a change of clothes, socks, and underwear…followed by a small bottle of lube and (Greg’s blush deepens at the memory) a pack of condoms.

Not that he expects. It’s just. It’s better to be prepared.

That’s all.

Greg wipes sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans and forces himself toward the house. He rings the doorbell and then waits, shifting from foot to foot and wondering if maybe he should’ve tried climbing up to Mycroft’s window. It’s on the second floor, though, and even if the night doesn’t end with anything sexual happening, Greg would much rather it not end with a trip to the A&E.

Greg smiles at the little boy who opens the door, unable to help feeling like he’s been caught out, but puts on his best show of bravado. “John.”

“Hey, Greg!” John eagerly beams up at Greg. “Mycroft said you’d be coming over. He said to tell you to go on upstairs once you were here.” He closes the door behind them and jerks his thumb at the stairs, but doesn’t move any further. His eyes shine excitedly at Greg and Greg is reminded once again that John sort of looks up to him.

Good kid, bad judge of character.

Then again, maybe Greg’s getting ahead of himself. Maybe John doesn’t admire his character and just thinks Greg’s cool because he’s in high school, plays rugby, smokes outside of school, and drives a motorbike.

“Uh. Right. Well. How’ve you been?” It’s awkward making conversation with him, but Greg is glad he tried when John’s face lights up at the question.

“Really good.” He enthuses. “Sherlock and I are having a Harry Potter marathon tonight. We’re already on Chamber of Secrets.”

“Great. That sounds fun. My favorite’s always been Prisoner of Azkaban.”

“Oh! Want me to come upstairs and let you know once we start it?” John asks and Greg blanches, backpedaling wildly.

“No, no! No. That’s fine. I’ve already. I own it, you know. I’ve seen it loads of times. And anyway, Mycroft and I are going to…” Hopefully make out and dirty touch each other, Greg finishes in his head. He clears his throat and tries again, going for a distraction. “What happened to your lip?”

There’s a deep, red gash on John’s bottom lip and, at Greg’s reminder, his tongue snakes out to prod at it. “Got in a fight at school today. But this is nothing. You should see the other guy.” John sounds a little proud when he says it, trying to act tough, and Greg smothers a smile. He doesn’t think John would enjoy being thought of as cute. But he is. Like an overly aggressive puppy.

“What happened?”

“Someone thought it’d be funny to try and bother Sherlock during our outside break. They stole red paint from the art room and were gonna pour it over his head while he was reading. I stopped them.”

“Good on you, mate!”

John beams at the praise. “Thanks. It’s what I-“

“ _John_!”

They both turn at the indignant shout. Sherlock stands in the doorway to the sitting room, fists clenched at his sides and glowering at Greg. If John is an overly aggressive puppy, Sherlock, at least to Greg, is a threatening kitten.

With really, _really_ sharp claws.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, none-too-friendly and Greg hoists his backpack higher on his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look too guilty.

“Your brother invited me.”

“Just because Mummy and Daddy are gone doesn’t mean Mycroft’s allowed to have his boyfriend over.” Sherlock sounds as if he’s reciting a well-worn phrase, primly crossing his arms in a very fussy manner. It needles, and Greg glances between the two little boys.

“That’s a bit rich coming from you, isn’t it? Especially since you have John over.”

Sherlock blushes. “That’s- John isn’t. We aren’t- That’s completely different, Lestrade-“

“Sherlock and I are having a movie marathon.” John goes to Sherlock’s side and takes his hand. Sherlock’s mouth shuts with an audible click. “That’s what Sherlock was saying. It’s _different_ from you and Mycroft because we’re having a _sleepover_.” He stresses, rolling his eyes as if Greg should already know that.

It’s annoying as hell when they do this: team up against people. John’s loyal to Sherlock to a fault and Greg never wins. He’s suddenly tired of talking to them. He wants to get upstairs. Mycroft is waiting for him.

“We’re missing our movie.” Sherlock mumbles to John before shooting a glare at Greg as if daring him to ask to join them.

Greg would rather die.

“Sorry. I was just telling Greg about the fight at school today.”

Sherlock sidles closer to John, trying to be sneaky about linking their fingers together. “I thought you were very brave.”

The smile John gave Greg earlier is nothing in comparison to the smile he gives Sherlock. John grins and goes pink-cheeked, eyes sparkling, and ducks his head. Sherlock takes John’s distraction as an opportunity to pull him towards the living room and John lets himself be led, sneaking shy looks at Sherlock from beneath his lashes. If they were any cuter Greg thinks he would throw up.

Seriously.

“See you later, Greg.” John calls carelessly over his shoulder, and Greg manages a wave before the two little boys disappear around the corner and out of sight, Sherlock slamming the door behind them with finality.

Thank fucking god.

Greg takes the stairs two at a time, impatient to see his boyfriend even though it’s only been a few hours since they were holding hands at school, and knocks smartly on Mycroft’s bedroom. At the faintly called permission, Greg enters, but his steps falter when he sees what Mycroft’s done.

He’s been in Mycroft’s bedroom before, but it’s never looked like this. All of the lights are off except the lamp on Mycroft’s bedside table. There’s a fire going in the hearth (because of course Mycroft Holmes’ bedroom has a fucking fireplace). The bed isn’t turned down but it’s still there and coupled with everything else, with the quiet music filtering from the hidden speakers and the soft crackling of the fire…

Greg sucks in a sharp breath. It looks very _amorous_. Greg is almost positive he’s seen this exact same set-up in one of the romantic movies his mum loves to watch. He’s scoffed at those scenes in the past but he isn’t laughing now.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Mycroft calls from the adjoining loo and Greg nods even though Mycroft can’t see him. He ambles toward the bed, licking at his suddenly dry lips, and dumps his bag on the floor then stands awkwardly by the bed, staring at it, wondering if he should sit down or if that’d be presumptuous.

He decides to remain standing. He doesn’t want to screw this up.

It’d taken three solid years of flirting and pining before Greg managed to convince Mycroft to go out with him. To be honest, Greg’s still not sure how he managed it. He thinks it was a moment of poor judgment on Mycroft’s part and he’s just been too polite to break up with Greg ever since. Either way, Greg isn’t complaining. He knows he’s the luckiest bloke in England.

While he’s waiting, he takes the opportunity to look around Mycroft’s bedroom. Anything to keep his gaze away from the bed because every time he looks at it, he starts blushing. Greg’s seen Mycroft’s room the few times he’s been invited over to “study” but to be honest, Greg’s always been more focused on getting to kiss Mycroft- and then keep kissing him- to notice things like posters or decorations.

There’s not a lot of them. The walls of Greg’s room are covered in band and movie posters, but Mycroft’s walls are spartan in contrast. There’s a few tasteful and artsy prints of plays in different languages that Greg’s never heard of, a diagram of some mechanism that is incomprehensible, and a few framed photographs of Mycroft and Sherlock through the years.

Mycroft’s entire room is very _clean_. There’s no dirty laundry. Not even a stray sock. Greg idly wonders what he does with all his laundry. There’s no empty cups or plates or molding bits of food anywhere. There are no crumbs scattered over the carpet. The room even smells nice, and it’s almost unbelievable that a teenage boy lives here. Except it’s Mycroft Holmes. So maybe it’s not so unbelievable.

The loo door opens and Greg turns, heart skipping a beat…then stopping altogether.

Mycroft hovers in the doorway, heartbreakingly uncertain, and silhouetted by the harsh lights from the loo, totally naked except for one of Greg’s old rugby jumpers. It’s too big on Mycroft’s slight frame, the blue-and-gold striped fabric hitting him mid-thigh, and it’s long enough to cover him but short enough so that Greg know Mycroft isn’t wearing anything underneath.

He’s naked.

Greg goes lightheaded.

Mycroft wearing the matching blue-and-gold striped socks as well. They’re so big on him that he’s managed to pull them up all the way to his knees. And fuck but that shouldn’t be hot. There’s no way fucking _rugby socks_ should be hot, but they are, suddenly, because Mycroft’s wearing them. Greg’s body reacts to the sight, his eyes helplessly tracing up and down Mycroft’s legs, devouring the naked stretch of skin between the tops of the socks and the hem of his jumper.

Holy. Shit.

Twin spots of color ride high on Mycroft’s cheeks and he twists at the hem of the jumper. It rides higher on his thighs, giving Greg a very good glimpse of creamy, pale skin, lightly dusted with red hair and spotted with freckles, before Mycroft realizes what he’s doing and stops. Greg wants to moan.

“I’m sorry, Gregory.” Mycroft covers his face with both hands, blushing. “This is stupid. Isn’t it? Please don’t laugh. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No. This is…Mycroft. _Wow_.” Greg croaks. Words fail him because this is…Mycroft looks…he looks…

“I just…” Mycroft begins quietly, biting at his lips. “I thought you might like it?”

“I…” Greg tries then has to settle for nodding, looking back down at Mycroft’s thighs. “Yeah. You were right…this is…yeah.”

“Really?”

Greg is surprised Mycroft has to ask. He can feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against the front of his jeans. It’s very obvious. Mycroft can’t have missed it. But if he needs Greg to tell him-

“Yeah. You look great. Amazing.”

“Can you come here, please?” Mycroft holds out his hands and Greg quickly steps forward, taking his hands and moving closer, crowding against Mycroft. His heart pounds in his chest. He can smell the fresh, clean scent of Mycroft’s body wash. His hair is still slightly damp. He showered before Greg got here and there’s a reason for that but Greg’s mind stalls, still stuck on the sight of Mycroft in his rugby get-up.

“The reason for this,” Mycroft says, “is…well. I thought that perhaps…that we could…if you were amenable, of course…”

Greg doesn’t care what Mycroft proposes. He is amenable for any fucking thing Mycroft wants. Mycroft could say he wants to go outside and actually play rugby in the buff and Greg would follow him outside in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t think that’s what Mycroft wants.

He places his hands lightly on Mycroft’s hips and so he feels when Mycroft shivers, shifting under his touch. Greg’s cock twitches with interest.

“You thought what?” He husks and Mycroft’s eyes dart up to meet his and he suddenly looks much braver.

“I thought that tonight could be- the night.”

The night.

Greg takes in Mycroft’s outfit again. The whole room. He remembers the condoms and lube currently burning a hole in his backpack. Seems he wasn’t the only one keen about tonight.

Greg still has to ask. “The night?”

“Mm.” Mycroft nods, his eyes dropping to Greg’s lips and he gives in to the silent request and leans forward, giving Mycroft a light, chaste kiss. He hears Mycroft’s breath catch. His own is none too steady. His hands on Mycroft’s hips are shaking.

“That’s. Yeah. Of course. If that’s what you really want? Because. I mean. There’s no pressure. You know that, right?” Greg knows that he’s rambling but this is important. He has lots more experience than Mycroft, but he’s made sure, from their very first date, that they take things as slow as Mycroft needs. He doesn’t want Mycroft to feel pressured and doesn’t want them to rush into this. “I don’t want you to feel like this is something we have to do and you’re, like, obligated. Or something.”

“But I _do_ feel like this is something we have to do.” Mycroft admits, and Greg’s already opening his mouth to tell him he’s wrong, that they never have to do anything Mycroft doesn’t want and that they literally never have to ever have penetrative sex- when Mycroft kisses him again, cutting off his words. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately, Gregory, having you in that way and experiencing that with…with someone I trust. With you, I mean.”

How the hell is Greg supposed to think when Mycroft says things like that?

“It’s something I truly want,” Mycroft reassures him, “and I don’t think I am mistaken in believing that it’s something you want as well?”

“Yeah. I mean. Yeah, of course. I have been too. Thinking about it I mean.” Greg winces. That sounded stupid, but Mycroft doesn’t act like it was. He cocks his head to the side, suddenly looking pleased and coy.

“Really?”

“Um. Yeah. A lot.” Greg runs his fingers up the outside of Mycroft’s thigh, dips beneath the hem of the jumper, stopping short. “You look really, really nice in this.”

“I do?”

Greg laughs shakily, still tracing along Mycroft’s bare skin. “Yeah.”

“I worried this may have been a bit silly.” Mycroft twists at the hem of the jumper and this time Greg gets a breathtaking peek of Mycroft’s cock- there and gone- before the fabric drops back down again.

“ _Nn_ …s’perfect.” Is all he manages and then he’s kissing Mycroft. There’s nothing but thin fabric between Mycroft’s growing erection and Greg’s thigh and it feels amazing. Greg moans into their kiss and rocks gently against his boyfriend, teasing him, getting even harder himself when he feels Mycroft’s cock.

It’s nothing new. They’ve done this before: grinding against each other until they both come. Usually they’re horizontal on Mycroft’s bed and fully clothed in case Mycroft’s parents walk in. This feels so much fucking better. Plus, there’s the added advantage that there are no parents who could interrupt.

Greg grips Mycroft’s hips and walks backward towards the bed, pulling his boyfriend along with him, trying not to break their kiss but he ends up almost tripping over his own feet. They have to break apart. Mycroft laughs at him, so much more relaxed than earlier- then reaches for the buttons on Greg’s jeans.

They’ve done other stuff besides just grinding. Greg has sucked Mycroft off a few times. There’s been mutual handjobs stretched out on Mycroft’s bed and one memorable time Mycroft shyly offered to go down on Greg and he’d only tongued at the head a bit before Greg was pushing him away and coming messily all over his stomach. That’d been embarrassing. But hot. Greg’s never let Mycroft do it again though because embarrassing himself like that in front of his boyfriend once is more than enough.

And they’ve played around with penetration, but there’s been nothing major. There’s been a lot of fucking talking, though.

A whole lot of fucking talking… _about_ fucking.

Mycroft abandons Greg on the bed and quickly pads to the door, engaging the lock. There may be no parents but there’s still an annoying little brother and his annoying little friend downstairs and they do not want to be interrupted. Greg shimmies the rest of the way out of his jeans, tossing them to the floor, and yanks his shirt over his head before Mycroft even makes it back to the bed. The look Mycroft gives him- sprawled in just his pants- makes Greg cock jerk where it’s already tenting the front of his boxers. He knows Mycroft sees it and his eyebrow does that little quirk upward which usually frustrates the hell out of Greg…when it isn’t turning him on.

Mycroft settles astride Greg’s lap and threads his fingers through his hair with a little self-satisfied smirk while Greg impatiently pulls at the hem of the jumper until he reveals Mycroft’s cock. Greg doesn’t think he should describe a guy’s cock as pretty, but if he were ever going to- it would be Mycroft’s. Surrounded by a frizz of ginger curls and arching up against his stomach, his cock is slim and pink, flushed with arousal. It’s petite and gorgeous and Greg has never seen anything so perfect. He doesn’t even tease but wraps his hand fully around Mycroft’s cock and gives him a few slow strokes. Mycroft moans against his lips, hips twitching forward.

“Can I take this off?” Greg tugs at the jumper and Mycroft nods. Greg yanks it up and off, revealing the rest of Mycroft- his thin chest and pale arms, the little pudge of his stomach which Mycroft is embarrassed about but which Greg thinks is gorgeous. Just like every other part of him. And everything is covered in a dusting of freckles that Mycroft also hates, and which Greg also loves.

He loves everything about Mycroft.

In all honesty, Greg doesn’t know what the hell Mycroft Holmes is doing with a scruffy bit of rough like himself. He experiences a pang so sharp it takes his breath away when he thinks of all the posh blokes Mycroft will meet at uni in the fall. Guys who are more handsome and definitely smarter than Greg. Richer, too, but that’s not really hard when the competition is dirt poor.

Still.

Mycroft will easily find someone loads better than Greg, of that he is positive, and he’ll look back on this and wonder what the hell he was doing, dating someone like Greg Lestrade.

I’ll always have _this_ at least, Greg thinks fiercely, spreading his hands over the width of Mycroft’s hips, skimming back to knead at his bare arse. He’ll always know that no matter who else Mycroft is with, Greg was his first everything: first boyfriend, first kiss, first love, first person to touch him, first person he ever touched, first person to suck his cock, first…

It’s horribly selfish but Greg can’t help it. He knows this can’t last, what they have, and he wants to always have a place in Mycroft’s life…even if it’s just as a memory.

Greg noses his way across Mycroft’s jaw, beneath his ear, and licks and sucks the sensitive skin of his neck. Mycroft gasps and his hand clenches in Greg’s hair, pre-come leaking onto Greg’s palm, and Greg supposes there should be a lot more warm-up to things, but they’ve both waited a long time for this moment. Greg’s all about foreplay and making Mycroft feel good and he’ll do anything Mycroft wants him to, but he really, really, really is ready and-

He breaks their kiss, working up the courage to confess. “I brought some things with me.”

Mycroft raises his eyebrow again, smiling incredulously. “Things?”

Greg flushes. He snags his bag from the floor and rummages inside for the lube and condoms. “Here.”

“My. How very resourceful of you, Gregory.” Mycroft gives him another smile, eyes sparkling, and after a quick foray in his bedside table drawer, he tosses a small bottle of lube and a packet of condoms onto the bed. Greg bursts out laughing. He guesses he wasn’t the only one…

“Not flavored?” He teases just to have something to say because he suddenly can’t stop thinking about Mycroft Holmes going to the corner store while he imagines having sex with Greg and browsing the aisles before actually purchasing lube and condoms with the intention of _having sex with Greg_. Holy shit. “Um…are you…?” Greg clears his throat and tries again. “Is this alright? I mean. You’re really sure you’re ready? Because I really don’t mind waiting-“

Mycroft places his fingers over Greg’s lips. “Yes, Gregory. I’m very sure.”

“Okay.” Greg takes a few seconds to realize that this is actually happening. He and Mycroft are going to have sex. A new, sort of jittery excitement runs through him and his heart starts racing about a mile a minute.

“Uh…Alright. Would you care to…?” Greg presses the bottle of lube into Mycroft’s hand and Mycroft looks at it for a moment, like he’s surprised, before taking it.

“Yes. Sure. Of course, Gregory.”

A sick swoop of excitement, like being at the top of a rollercoaster, leaves Greg lightheaded. He’s about to get fingered open by his boyfriend and he really, really hopes he doesn’t come before he gets properly fucked. He’ll have to think about school, or rugby, or his grandmum, or maybe even-

Mycroft lays himself out on the bed, looking self-conscious, and opens the lube, pouring a small amount onto his palm. Darting an insecure glance at Greg, he turns on his side and pulls his leg up, reaching back-

Greg grabs his arm, stopping him. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m…you just asked me to…” Mycroft gestures with the bottle of lube and Greg’s eyes dart from the lube to Mycroft, then back again.

“Yeah, I did. But. Oh. I-I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought that I’d be the one who…” Greg awkwardly trails off. They should’ve talked about this, he realizes. He’d just assumed that he’d be the one who…but clearly Mycroft hadn’t…now Mycroft was expecting Greg to…

Which was fine. Greg didn’t mind doing that. Of course not. They could do it either way.

“The one who…what?”

“The one who…well. I-I thought that _you’d_ be the, um,” Greg can’t think of the words he needs, his mind going blank at the worst possible time. “The one who tops.”

Oh, god. Could he have said that in a cruder way? Greg wishes he’d kept his mouth shut about the whole thing.

Mycroft sits up, holding his wet hand out to the side and gives Greg a look. “You mean you want me to…do that…to you?”

“Yeah. But it’s fine if that’s not what you want.” Greg assures him. He feels like an arse. He wanted to make this good for Mycroft and he feels like he’s ruining it.

“No. I would like that very much.” Mycroft admits. “I only assumed that you would prefer to have sex the other way around.”

“Why?”

“Why did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Um…”

Mycroft laughs good-naturedly, rescuing Greg and giving him a kiss. “Look at us, having such misguided and ignorant preconceived notions of our respective positions in this relationship.”

Greg snorts. “I’m guessing that’s a nicer way of saying we’re both being arses.”

“You would be correct.” Mycroft kisses him again and traces Greg’s lips with the tip of his tongue before murmuring, “I would very much like to penetrate you, Gregory.”

Hearing Mycroft say things like that in his posh voice does _things_ to Greg. “Y-you would?”

“Very much.”

“That’s. Well. That’s.” Amazing. Fucking fantastic. The best thing Greg’s ever heard. “G-Good to know.”

* * *

 

Okay. So Greg may have a _slight_ fetish for Mycroft’s hands.

They’re just so bloody elegant. His fingers are long and slim and rather delicate looking and Greg literally can’t wait until they’re buried in his arse.

They kiss while Mycroft prepares him, one of Greg’s legs hooked over Mycroft’s hip to give Mycroft better access but also so Greg can rub his cock against Mycroft’s stomach. It feels good and Greg’s done this to himself loads of times, buried under the covers in his bedroom in the dark, biting his lip while he fingers himself.

It’s much better when Mycroft does it though. The angle’s better. Mycroft’s fingers can reach further inside. And. Well. It’s _Mycroft Holmes_ who’s doing it.

So there’s that.

Greg reaches for Mycroft’s cock, wanting to do something for him while he relaxes, but Mycroft brushes his hand away with a shaky laugh.

“Please don’t.”

“Why?”

Mycroft hides his expression in Greg’s neck and murmurs, “I’m afraid I’ll come.”

Greg groans, kissing him and pushing back against his fingers. “I’m ready now.”

“Gregory-“

“No, Mycroft. I am. Really.” Greg pleads. “Please.”

“We don’t have to rush this-“

“Mycroft.” Greg says seriously. “If we don’t do this soon I’ll…” He wants to say something dirty and make Mycroft blush and arouse him, but instead he hears himself blurting- “I’ll die.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever died from lack of anal penetration from their sexual partner.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t want me to be the first, do you? You don’t want that on your conscience- that you could have saved my life if you’d only just fucked me? That I was begging but you were so heartless as to-“

“Please stop talking and get a condom.” Mycroft commands and Greg scrambles to obey.

“Fuck yes!”

Mycroft’s hands are sticky with lube so Greg has to rip open the condom packet. His hands are shaking and it takes him three tries before he gets it. He’s nervous. Excited. Scared. Elated. But Greg is sure about this. He is beyond sure. He’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

They flounder around until Greg’s stretched on his back, a pillow shoved under his hips, and Mycroft’s knelt between his spread legs, eyes dark as he stares down at Greg. He’s still wearing Greg’s rugby socks.

For a second, Greg could swear he feels his heart stop.

There’s a stretching burn with the initial penetration and Greg knows enough to relax. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly while Mycroft presses further in. He breathes through the uncomfortable full feeling, bearing down, concentrating on how much he wants Mycroft’s cock in his arse. It still sort of hurts and he takes as much as he can before he grabs at Mycroft’s hips, stopping him.

“Wait, wait, wait. Just. Wait a second.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. It’s just. It’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” Greg gives Mycroft a lopsided smile and steers his hand down to his cock. He’s gone soft from the pain but Mycroft coaxes and teases him back to full hardness. Greg can feel his hole clenching and fluttering around Mycroft’s cock and he arches his back, closing his eyes.

“’kay. You can move.”

Mycroft eases his way inside, going so slow, and Greg’s mouth falls open in a soundless moan. Because yes. This feels amazing. There’s still a slight burn but this time it’s minimal, easy to ignore. He still has to concentrate on not tensing up and he writhes, adjusting to being full of Mycroft’s cock. He’s had dreams about this moment but this is even better than he could’ve thought.

Greg opens his eyes. His legs are slick with sweat where they’re wrapped around Mycroft’s hips and sweat stands out on his forehead. His cock pulses against his stomach, abandoned for the moment, and he doesn’t want to touch himself yet. “Oh, fuck, Mycroft.”

“Are you alright?”

“Mmhmm.” Greg nods, his hair rasping against the pillow. “You?”

“Y-yes. I’m fine.” Mycroft hesitates. “But I’m afraid this may be over very quickly.” He warbles but Greg just shrugs.

“S’fine.” He doesn’t care. He’s just glad they’re finally doing this.

“May I move? Please?”

Greg nods and Mycroft sobs out a harsh breath, rocking his hips experimentally. Pleasure and pain flare simultaneously and Greg whines, fisting his cock. He encourages Mycroft to do more, guiding him to pull out farther, thrust deeper, quicker, and soon Mycroft’s fucking into him, Greg softly crying out with every thrust, every time Mycroft bottoms out inside him.

He can’t help it. Everything feels _too much_. He tries to be quiet, biting his lip, because even if the Holmes parents aren’t there, Sherlock and John are still downstairs. He doesn’t want to scar them for life or anything. But it gets harder and harder to be quiet as he gets closer to orgasm.

Mycroft’s breathing is harsh, his rhythm irregular and faltering. Greg knows he’s close. He jacks himself harshly, wanting to come with Mycroft still inside him. His hole tightens around Mycroft’s cock and Mycroft gasps, high-pitched and frantic.

“I’m going to come- Gregory…!”

“Yes, oh fuck…yes, Mycroft. C’mon, love.” Greg is right there. He squints his eyes against the rising pleasure, hand a blur on his cock, and he barely manages to cover his mouth with his other hand before he comes with a muffled shout, come spurting up his chest and covering his stomach. He feels Mycroft give one more hard thrust then still, whimpering as he comes too, pulsing and shaking and falling apart.

Afterward, Greg wraps his arms around Mycroft, holding him while their heartbeats returns to normal. They’re both sweaty and sticky and smell like come, lube, and latex. He figures they’ll shower soon, but for now they’re both content to lay together and bask in the closeness and the myriad emotions of what they’ve just done together.

Mycroft stirs first, raising up enough so he can press a kiss against Greg’s cheek. “I love you, Gregory.” He says softly and Greg’s heart just about breaks in two.

“Love you too, Mycroft.”

"Was that alright?" Mycroft sounds hesitant and worried, like he's afraid Greg will say it was crap, which is the most absurd thing ever.

Greg props himself up on an elbow and takes Mycroft's face in his hands, staring leveling into his eyes. "Mycroft. That was the single best thing that has ever happened in my entire life. You were amazing and it felt...you have no idea."

"I may have some idea, Gregory." Mycroft quips and Greg snorts, shaking his head.

"I love you."

Mycroft beams, so happy, and Greg's heart twists just a little more in his chest. He doesn’t know what the future holds for them. He assumes heartbreak. Separation. Losing Mycroft. Different unis. Falling asleep at night with a hollow ache in his chest which won’t be filled. Longing to hear the sound of Mycroft’s posh voice. Knowing he’s fading into a memory for Mycroft.

But as Mycroft tugs Greg out of bed, kissing him sloppily before forcing him into the shower, Greg decides not to think about the future.

He has Mycroft now.

That will have to be enough.


End file.
